


devoid

by stokiometry



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stokiometry/pseuds/stokiometry
Summary: Tony dreams.(Spoilers for Infinity War)





	devoid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justfandomthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfandomthings/gifts).



> "Wanna dance?"  
> Prompt-fill for a good friend -- finally figured I should post it on AO3. <3 This was written with the idea that Stephen + Tony got to know each other before the whole Thanos situation came into play.

If anyone deserved to rot away in a desolate place, it was him.

How could he be alive when Peter crumbled to ash in his arms? When Strange sacrificed everything for his life? When all of those people were gone and he played a role in it?

He might have killed Thanos — might have helped Nebula, Steve, and other Avengers finish him off for good — but no one came back from the dead.  _ No one _ came back despite their best efforts.

Peter was gone.

Strange was gone.

Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Vision, even  _ Harley  _ — 

Everyone he smiled with, everyone he had  _ known  _ and  _ respected  _ — gone.

Just like that.

All of them.

He had driven himself to kill Thanos  _ because  _ of those he loved and lost. Because maybe there was a chance of them returning — maybe Cap was right and miracles did happen and  _ they could be alive and  _ happy  _ again _ .

But they didn’t come back.

And some part of Tony died along with them.

He drank and drank before bed — anything to numb the ache and change his nightmares to fuzzy static. He tried to keep himself preoccupied with new projects in the workshop, but it didn’t work.

_ He  _ couldn’t work without thinking of Peter calling him or bursting into his workshop, a grin on his face as he recounted late night adventures —

Of Pepper, and how she’d come down to make sure he didn’t pull too many all-nighters, even after they decided to remain close friends.

Of Strange, with the way he’d pull ridiculous pranks on him in his workshop and change his heavy-metal to cheesy romance songs they both hated (and secretly hummed to). He’d grown to appreciate magic more because of him, though he never got the chance to say it.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to say what he needed to any of them. And he hated himself for it — for never fully expressing his appreciation for them while they were alive.

But if there was anything he hated more than himself, it was sleeping. Because when he wasn’t drowning in nightmares and the weight of helplessness and feeling pinned down, he just…  _ dreamt _ .

Of peace and security and feeling  _ safe  _ for once. And he didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve that at all.

The happiness, the warmth; he dreamt of joy and woke to burning hatred in his lungs and anger simmering deep in his core for daring to feel anything close to good.

But the dreams themselves — they were wonderful.

And they went somewhat like this:

* * *

 

He was enveloped by darkness.

Most of his nightmares started like this — surrounded by nothing but black, the sticky feeling of dread rising with every breath. There wasn’t any hope here — there never was. It wasn’t reliving his worst experiences, it wasn’t even about seeing them again.

It was the sense of  _ wrongness _ , of feeling helpless when there was no light, no flame.

He was trapped in an obsolete world that had nothing left going for it; trapped as some _ one  _ that had no one left.

But here… it felt different.

“Wanna dance?”

He turned at the sound of that familiar voice, heart stuttering in his chest.

And he —  _ Strange  _ —  was why. 

“…Dumbledore.”

The silly nickname slipped off his lips as easily as it had when he was still alive.

‘ _ You’re dead _ ,’ he thought,  _ ‘I watched you die and couldn’t save you after you saved  _ me — ’

No words formed on the tip of his tongue. Nothing came. He spent his days thinking of all of the things he could say to those he failed if he ever got the chance — but now that he was face-to-face with one of them, he faltered.

( _ and oh, he knew it was a dream — knew it was nothing more than a figment of his imagination — but it  _ felt  _ real and that was all that mattered _ )

Strange was  _ here _ , hand outstretched like a cliche Disney prince, skin blooming with color instead of dyed with ash and — 

“Sure.” He said, if only to cover up the way his thoughts were turning. Nothing made sense, but it didn’t have to. Anything beat a recurring nightmare. “Probably the only chance I’ll have at this — ”

( _ at some sort of happiness _ )

“— so might as well enjoy it.”

Stephen — no,  _ Strange  _ — simply smiled.

Tony hesitated for the slightest of seconds before gently taking Strange’s hand into his own.

( _ and if this were real, would Strange even let him do this? to touch him and be so close? who would show him a special part of themselves and trust him not to ruin everything? _ )

Their first steps were the same: almost shy, but not quite; once they got the hang of it, it was as though they were dancing a slow waltz, the perfect picture of grace. The last time Tony had danced like this was with Pepper; both seemed to care about him in their own way. It made the dull ache in his chest grow stronger.

“I know what you’re doing to yourself, Tony.” His gaze was too much to handle. Too gentle, too  _ soft _ , too undeniably kind without a hint of judgment and Tony didn’t think he could bear it. “I watch you rip yourself apart every day — pulling apart your stitches because you think it’s what you deserve.”

It was true,  _ god _ , it was true. But hearing it come from someone else — from  _ Strange  _ — made it seem worse than it really was.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about me, doc.” He brushed it away like he brushed everything away: flippantly, with ease, a grin and a joke with the truth layered deep beneath it. 

( _ sometimes, it was obvious —  _ he  _ was obvious; screaming for help without saying the actual words. but no one seemed to notice, so he dealt like he always had: alone _ )

“Things are a little rough lately, but I can handle anything. It’s fine —  _ I’m _ fine.”

“No,” was the only reply he got, that single word rooting him to the spot. “You’re not.”

He didn’t bother to look at him — he kept his gaze averted because maybe, just  _ maybe _ , that would keep the walls up and his heart tough.

Because what was he supposed to do when someone called him out on his facade? 

‘ _ You were the only person in a long time that treated me with so much respect and care and — and I don’t know what to do with that _ .’

The words stayed lodged in the back of his throat.

His eyes burned.

If he could stop thinking then maybe he could enjoy this. But the thoughts were rampant and he didn’t deserve a reprieve but Strange’s hand felt too nice, too comforting against the small of his back —

He wasn’t  _ good  _ enough for this support, hadn’t been strong enough to be gifted with a grace like this. Pain, he knew; guilt, he shook hands with; panic, he had to take. What was he supposed to do when faced with someone who accepted all of him?

He was silent, the only sound heard being the soft step of their movements. 

“You aren’t alone.” The cloak brought them closer, Strange’s warmth enveloping him. He could feel the tremors of Stephen’s right hand covering his as he lead the dance and it made him want to hold his hands in his own. To just stand there in each other’s arms for a while. It all felt so real, but he knew it could  _ never be _ . “And you’ll never be.”

Tony wasn’t so sure he could believe that, but Strange seemed so  _ sure  _ of himself — so sure of everything. Like Tony used to be.

( _ he had made a mistake when thinking tony’s life could restore peace; there wasn’t anything peaceful about living like this _ )

“I’m here for you.” He squeezed his eyes shut — why did he feel  _ so goddamn vulnerable _ ? — Strange’s voice striking a cord in him.

They slowed to a stop and the cloak nudged him, prompting him to open his eyes and look past Strange.

“We’re all here for you.”

He saw — he saw  _ light _ .

He saw Peter and Pepper and Rhodey all smiling at him and — 

Tony choked back a sob, crumbling in on himself but Strange showed no signs of moving away. Both him and the cloak embraced Tony, their presence only making him cry harder, but neither seemed to mind. This was a dream — it couldn’t be anything other than a dream, but for the first time, some part of him thought that  _ maybe  _ he could do this.

“And you deserve to heal.”


End file.
